Dishes of Doom
by Thalion Estel
Summary: Thalion Estel can't seem to get her family to rinse and load their dishes after a meal. It takes an unexpected visit from one of the Valar to keep the counter clear of dirty dishes.


**Disclaimer: if you recognize it, I don't own it.**

**Author's note: This is a true-ish story that involves my family members and me. We are your average homeschooling family, so don't start picturing great elven lords and ladies or anything like that. This is NOT about the characters after whom we are all named. Mandos is the only one who is really himself. I hope you all enjoy this somewhat silly story. Please review!**

It was Thalion's dishes week. That evil time in which she spent seven days slaving away at the sink, washing the dishes. It was the period of the month she loathed more than any other, the one terrible fourth of her life. Every time she had finally finished the task, it had seemed only the next day when she would have to start doing it all over again.

"Thalion, you need to do the dishes from last night!" Melian called from the living room. "I can't cook another meal unless I have a clean pan to use!" Thalion's only response was a long sigh as she made her way to the kitchen.

This whole issue with dishes would not have been such a problem if Thalion had not happened to live among six other people. Even that would have only posed a slight inconvenience, but these were not six ordinary humans. Thalion did not buy into the lie that she lived among ordinary folk. She knew that the only creatures capable of eating so much so often were hobbits. It meant nothing to her that they were not abnormally short and had typical-looking feet. Genetics accomplish the impossible, after all.

Thalion walked sulkily over to the large sink and then let out a huff of disgust. The edge of the counter was piled high with dirty dishes that should have been rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher by their users. Her job was to wash the cooking utensils, such as pans, dipping spoons, and left-over containers. It was _not_ her job to do everyone's personal plates and bowls, but when her family members neglected their duties, Thalion found the task typically dumped onto her.

Why were her family members so irresponsible? It was not hard to run the water on the dishes and then set them into a machine's rack, was it? It_ did_ become hard to do the job when the dishes were in such large numbers, and it angered Thalion that she would suffer due to a lack of effort from others.

Muttering some remarks about her extremely difficult circumstances and hard life, Thalion began rinsing and loading the mounds of dishes. This took several more minutes and splashes than Thalion would have liked, but eventually she completed her task and tidied up the counter. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow was not better. Sure enough, the dishes were piled high beside the sink when Thalion came to do her daily dishes. She fumed inside, and this time she made her distaste publically known.

"When you finish eating, you load you plates and cups into the dishwasher!" she exclaimed more loudly than was needed. "Why do you all have to be so lazy?"

"Thalion," Thingol snapped from his seat at the table. "Stop with the rant. Do your dishes."

Thalion ground her teeth and resumed the dishes, wishing she had a way to make her family members listen to her pleas. She should not be doing this every night of her week! Dishes were only supposed to take a few minutes, yet it was almost half an hour later that Thalion finally finished the chore. As soon as she was done, she climbed the stairs and entered her private chambers, also called her bedroom.

She let out a frustrated breath as she plopped onto her bed. Her adorable but brainless dog, fondly known as Warg, sat beside the bed and wagged her tail. This cheered Thalion a little, but she was still upset.

"Thimbles and thunderstorms, Warg! I'm tired of doing other people's dishes!"

Warg just stared with the same vacant grin she always had. Since talking to Warg was better than talking to no one, Thalion continued.

"If only there was something I could say to make them do what I want!" Realizing how selfish and strange her comment was, she rephrased it. "If only I were a persuasive speaker. Or maybe not even that: I just need the right words."

Glancing at her bookshelf, the Silmarillion seemed to beg her attention. Having nothing else to do, she stood up and walked to the wooden structure. She took the precious book from among the others and returned to her bed. Flipping open to a random page, she sighed when she read of Fëanor convincing some of the elves to leave Valinor.

"Now there's a persuasive speaker," she mumbled. "Though, he didn't exactly get a good result from winning over all those people."

"You have hit the point with remarkable precision."

Thalion nearly jumped off her bed as she heard the unknown voice. It was not a voice like any she had ever heard, but stronger and more powerful than what the average person possessed. She did not even need to look up to know that whoever was in her room must be more than an ordinary man. However, she did look up, and what she saw made her more startled than ever.

Before her was dark figure whose presence demanded both attention and solemnity. Words fall utterly short of describing much more than that, so it will suffice to say that the figure was grim, though not evil. Somehow Thalion knew who it was, and she trembled as she breathed his name.

"Mandos."

Thalion suddenly felt stupid and worthless. How could she, a young mortal girl, act around one of the Valar? Her thoughts soon turned from wondering how to treat her unexpected guest to ones that a normal person would have turned to first. He was not even supposed to be real! Was she having a mental breakdown? How could a character from a book be standing in her room?

"My lord," she stammered. She felt as if her tongue were without muscles. She rubbed her hands together and squeezed her fingers tightly. What was she supposed to do?

"Fear not, child of Men," he said in a kind, though still grim tone. "I have come to aid thee."

"Aid me?" Thalion wondered aloud before catching herself. "Pardon me," she said with a more sophisticated choice of words. "I did not mean to speak out of place."

"There is no need to be anxious: I am not here to test you."

After a moment of terrible silence, Thalion finally plucked up enough courage to speak. "What is your purpose here, my lord?"

"The Valar have sent me to aid you in your plight involving _dishes_."

The last word in his sentence made Thalion's mouth part. Dishes? The Keeper of the Dead had come to help her with her dishes? What in all of Arda were the Valar thinking? At the moment, it appeared they were not thinking at all.

"_Dishes_, my lord?" Thalion asked with almost no volume.

"Yes. Dishes."

Thalion could not process the information that had been given to her. She had already known that her sanity was lacking before, but this event begged a series of questions about the functions of her brain. Fortunately, Mandos must have known she would be unresponsive, for he continued to speak without waiting for Thalion to acknowledge him.

"You desire a way to be heard amongst your kin on the matter of proper dishes protocol," Mandos said. "While it is not my place to directly affect the tides of history among men, I have been granted this audience. Listen to this, my message."

Thalion trained every single part of her being on the Vala as he straightened up and began his oratory with dignity.

"You have at your disposal all you require to be heard. You need not demand the voice of Fëanor, nor should you crave the talent of his tongue. All the words you need I have given to you. Use the words I have given you. Look to the words I have given you. This will be your salvation in the matter of _dishes_."

He said the final word with more air than the others, and his voice seemed like a wind around Thalion. Then she suddenly noticed that it _was_ a wind, and it was growing in intensity. It felt like a relentless gale, and Thalion was forced to cover her face with her hands. The papers that had previously been piled on her desks were thrown violently into the air. The sheets of her unmade bed were whipped about her, and she wanted to scream. Words echoed in her mind, though she had not thought of them. _Use the words I have given you._

When she opened her eyes, Thalion sucked in a breath of shock. Mandos was gone. Her room was in perfect order. The stacks of paper were still sitting neatly on the desk. The bed sheets were lying flat at her sides. Warg was looking up at her with the same stupid expression, her tail wagging lightly. The Silmarillion lay open at Thalion's side.

_Use the words I have given you._

What words? Thalion tried to recover from the unordinary occurrence by lying down and rubbing her temples. Mandos had been in her room. He had stood on her less-than-clean carpet. He had spoken to her. Or had he? It must have all been a strange dream.

_Use the words I have given you._

Suddenly, it all made sense. Thalion jerked up and grabbed the Silmarillion from where it lay. Her eyes blazed across the pages and a smile crept up her face. She would be heard, all thanks to Mandos.

Thalion raced downstairs and practically dived into a chair sitting beside the dining room table. Before her sat one of the family's two computers. Cracking her knuckles in expectation, Thalion pulled up a document and began typing as quickly as she could. She had never enjoyed herself more in her whole life.

A few minutes later, she printed her work of art and placed it in a transparent plastic page protector. She skipped into the kitchen and set the document onto the counter where the dishes would have been piled earlier in the day. With a triumphant snort and smirk, Thalion taped her masterpiece to the counter and walked away.

Her mood roused the family's curiosity, and all six mutant-hobbits made their way to the kitchen to see what Thalion had done. They crowded around the counter eagerly, and from that moment on, not one of them dared to set a dish onto the counter. Mandos' words had succeeded.

_The Doom that is laid on those who do not load their dishes into the dishwasher:_

_Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Dishes Girl will fence The Dishwasher against you, and shut you out, so that even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the Dishwasher racks. On the House of The Leaver of Dishes the wrath of the Dishes Girl lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their laziness shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very rest that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all pans and pots turn that they begin to eat from well; and by treason of lazy person unto lazy person, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever._

_Ye have left your cups and plates dirty next to the sink unrighteously and have stained the house of this family. For unwashed ye shall render unwashed, and beyond this house ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you not to do all the hard dishes in this house, yet dishes ye may do, and a washer you shall be: washing cup, plate, bowl, and pan. Long shall ye labor and yearn for your rest, and find little pity though all whom ye have let rinse and load your dishes should entreat for you. And those that do not become washers shall grow weary of their laziness as a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Dishes Girl has spoken._


End file.
